


Into the Night

by Kalico



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalico/pseuds/Kalico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they say the words, they mean them. Two years of perfect love, and living together in Atlas, have strengthened Blake and Weiss beyond their wildest dreams. The holiday season is again upon them, but this year, a set of circumstances force a change of plans upon them. And as the year nears its end, they will learn that love is never "perfect".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Night

When they say the words, they mean them. They know the emotion that resides within every fallen syllable the same way they know their backs of their hands.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

And the words are said with tender smiles that warm the heart, remind the heart of the feelings they hold only for the other. The looks and little actions they share with each other speak of happiness, anger, and everything in-between. The way they touch and caress the alabaster skin of the other's cheeks. The way that Blake's hands run through Weiss's silky, pearl-colored hair, and the way that Weiss brushes Blake's wavy, thin, black hair over her ear. The way they hold each other close, the slightly shorter Weiss looking up into her love's eyes, and back. It all spells and radiates affection, not to mention so much more.

When they say the words, they know that what they share is unique. Their love is one that has transcended societal expectations and predetermined gender roles. It is one that has transcended their backgrounds, and their physical differences. Weiss no longer cares that her love is a faunus, or that she was part of an organization such as the White Fang; Blake no longer cares that her love is the daughter of the late conniving megalomaniac, or that she now runs the Dust empire he almost destroyed before his death.

On the days when Weiss is at the office, Blake always prepares their home, and their meals. It makes Weiss feel guilty, but Blake is happy to do it. She only works from home, so it's fine, she always says. But Weiss still takes the opportunity to return the gesture whenever she can.

On off days, they walk in public with their hands intertwined, happily uncaring of the curious, wary or odd looks that the passers-by of Atlas telegraph to them. Some even pull out their cameras to document the sight. It matters not to the couple, and they dine alfresco for lunch. Sometimes they split the check, and other times, one of them picks it up; when Blake pays, she leaves a slightly bigger tip than Weiss tends to. A matter of critique, Weiss points out.

The seasons eventually shift, and the growing cold forces them indoors. As the snow begins to fall every few days, they cut back on taking walks, opting to stay by their fireplace. When they dine out, they prefer the comfort of the heated restaurant.

Weiss has three days off during the second week of October, some of which she spends offering helpful input into Blake's work, which is slowly beginning to snowball. Other times she spends relaxing by the fire with a book and a glass of wine before preparing dinner.

On the final of the three days, Weiss walks into Blake's office with a tablet.

"Hey, love?"

Blake swivels her chair around. "Mm-hm?"

Weiss hands her the tablet. "Read this."

"Mail?" Blake says, adjusting her glasses. "'Ms Schnee,'" she reads, "'We in the Vale branch are contacting you with a temporary offer...'" She trails off, reading further. Her eyebrows draw together when she frowns. "They want you in Vale through November and December?"

Weiss shrugs, and smiles sadly. "It seems that way."

"I get that this is part of your job now, but two months overseas, Weiss? That's not normal."

"I know that it's not normal, but they aren't lying when they say they need personal oversight. Things aren't great down in Vale right now. But I haven't replied to them yet," Weiss adds, sinking into the spare chair. "I wanted to hear your thoughts first."

"Well, if you go, then it's going to suck out here. I'm not trying to guilt you into staying, but I'm just saying that it would feel pretty bad to be apart for that long. And especially for the holiday."

Weiss reaches out and finds Blake's hand. She clasps it, warms it in her grip.

"It would suck for me too. But I won't go if you think it's going to affect us that badly. You know that you come first for me. You wouldn't be able to get away with me, would you?"

"No, not with work picking up. But..." Blake scrolls through the letter again, more rapidly this time. Then she hands the tablet back. "Hey, if you need to go and do this, then that's okay."

"Are you sure?"

Blake nods, with an accepting smile. "I'm sure it wouldn't be too much of a problem for us. Anyway, I need to get back to work, but we'll talk more about this later, okay?"

"Okay." Blake ducks forward and delivers a kiss to her love's lips. Weiss leaves, and she swivels back to her work, with much more on the mind than she was expecting on a cold October morning.

* * *

 

The chilling wind swirls across the tarmac, and Blake watches as her love's luggage is loaded up onto the private jet. The sky is dark, but she sees the promise of November's dawn under the weight of the final night in October.

She decides to retreat to the car, where Weiss waits with the composed patience and unflappable dignity she's known her for all these years.

"Cold out there," she says lamely. Weiss nods.

"The tail of the year has always been colder here in Atlas than when we were in Vale, hasn't it?"

"Maybe. It feels like it comes a lot sooner than Vale, at least."

Their small talk pads the time. They deliberately don't mention the separation that awaits them, until Weiss is informed that the jet is ready to leave as soon she wants to.

"Well, this is it. Two whole months."

Blake takes each of Weiss's hands in her own. "I'm really going to miss you... bring me back a souvenir?" she adds, trying to lighten the moment. Weiss smiles.

"I'll miss you too. But we have technology on our side. We can keep in contact every hour, if that's what you want."

"No, no, that wouldn't help you pull the Vale arm out of the red at all. Promise me we'll talk every day, though."

"Of course we will. I promise. I will bring you back a special, Vale-specific souvenir-" Blake chuckles at that. "... And I also promise to do my best in Vale, so that we might see each other again sooner than expected. So that we can be in each other's arms again."

Blake smiles, blinking back a prickling feeling in her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They mean it.

There are no symbolic trinkets or cheap promise rings. No bracelets, heavy with metaphor. No necklace or locket with a picture inside. No physical symbols to serve as reminders of their love. Because they both know that their love doesn't exist within silly novelty; it simply exists in their being.

They draw together, with the closing of distance between them a familiar thing. Blake pushes from her mind that she has to resign herself to the distance to come. But she leans forward in the embrace and captures soft lips, and the connection is enough to draw the thought back into her mind. It remains long after her love has flown away, all the way to Vale.

* * *

 

The cold only proves to seep further into the twilit consciousness of the year, as November is embraced by Atlas.

The lovers speak to each other every day, with fulfilled promises to speak again the next day. They keep each other informed; Weiss always says that things are moving well.

"When do you think you might be coming home?" Blake asks, only occasionally, so as not to sound like a broken record.

Weiss always the same thing: "We'll see."

And at the end of each conversation, they still say the words to each other, without fail.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They mean it every time. Blake knows that her love means, in the way that she can hear the soft, tender lilt in how she says the words. She only hopes that Weiss knows how much she means it back.

* * *

 

Work occupies much of Blake's time, increasing at a not-dissimilar parallel to the cold. Their modern house, which has always been slightly big for a childless couple, seems almost cavernous in the absence of her love.

Late hours result in late meals, and occasional laziness. On the tired nights she orders fast food, and chews sleepily in front of the fire. Then she realizes what she's doing, and tosses the bag of empty calories into the orange, licking tongues without a second thought.

At certain stage, it crosses her mind that she's fallen asleep on the couch or at her desk much more than she's fallen asleep in their bed. But it is a thought that she tries not to dwell on, for the feelings it brings up threaten to derail her busy days. The only things she concentrates on are her work and Weiss's return home, whenever that may be.

As November draws ever on, each day and night seems to meld together for Blake. It becomes something akin to a routine.

Wake up. Shower. Eat. Work. Work. Work. Talk to Weiss. Eat. Sleep.

Repeat.

On the twenty-fourth day of November, she manages to fit a new action into her schedule, right between eating and sleeping.

She generally doesn't think of herself as one to drink, or imbibe. That is Weiss's area, and even then, it was always only one glass of red wine, every other night.

But on the night of the twenty-fourth, after she deposits plates and utensils into the dishwasher, and screws the cap off of Weiss's bottle of red. She doesn't bother to fish out glassware.

She informs Weiss the next night about her new activity.

"Really? That's surprising."

Blake hears the intrigue in her love's voice.

"How so?"

"Well, it's not like you to touch a drink, let alone go after my wine."

Blake hums tiredly, her aural version of the shrug.

"If you are going to be doing this, Blake, I want you to take it easy," Weiss says, with a little concern. "I don't even have that much."

"Sure. I hear you. Don't worry, I'll be fine, I know my limits. I'm a big girl, after all."

"Okay then. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Almost a month apart, and they still mean it. But of course, for their love is absolute.

* * *

 

Time feels like a line, one that skates through the concept of existence and parallel to the concept of space.

This is the first thought that comes to Blake's mind, waking up on the on the third morning of December. She stares into the dark fireplace, at the gray ashes and the still-glowing embers.

That night, she decides to lay off the drink. Not just for reasons relating to her mental state, but also to prepare; Weiss would be coming home, at a tentative date of the twenty-second, the start of the holiday week.

Blake feels the excitement begin to course through her body anew. For longer than a month, her heart had ached for the absence of her love. Modern technology was only able to compensate for so much, after all. But the pain would be worth it, for they would soon be reunited, a whole week earlier than they had both expected.

It's an off day, so she decides to fill the time by cleaning up and down their house. She does laundry, she dusts, she scrubs. One task after the other, she rolls through with care, and attention to detail. It is not a task that takes long; their house is generally kept in a state of tidiness, and by midday, every surface of the two-story house is gleaming and polished.

With not much else to do, she slips into workout pants, a baggy shirt, and running shoes. It seems odd to her, that no one else is outside in the middle of the weekend. It brings to mind all sorts of criticisms of the younger generation, and how no one seems to go outside anymore.

And then her foot sinks into a soft bed of snow, just outside their doorstep, and her arguments vanish from her brain. The cold rips through her modest excuse for a layer, sending shivers of a colossal scale down her spine.

She immediately throws the door open and scurries back inside the house, opting instead for yoga by the fire. It would arguably be of more assistance for her mental preparation than an outdoor jog in December, she rationalizes.

* * *

 

By the tenth of the month, Blake feels good. Work remains tiring, but her resolve also remains strong, knowing that it is soon to be over, and then she has six free weeks. Five of which it looks like she is to spend with her love.

Weiss calls in the afternoon, which is surprising. As usual, Blake is only too delighted to hear her voice, but then she hears the despondent tone, and her pleasure turns to concern.

"I have bad news, love."

Blake listens, growing more and more disappointed with every word of Weiss's explanation. She takes a deep breath, which shudders when she exhales. It does not go unnoticed by Weiss, who pauses in her explanation.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," says Blake, automatically.

"No. It's not okay, Blake. I... I don't know how I can make it up to you."

"Well... just keep working hard, and I'll see you on the fifth of January, I guess."

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad... I'm just a bit disappointed, you know. Are you mad?"

"I'm mad at the Vale arm. I'm mad at myself."

Blake nods, but doesn't answer immediately. She looks up at the clock on the wall. "Hey, I'm gonna let you go. I... have to get back to work myself."

"Your deadline's still Friday?"

"Yeah. Just two more days."

"Okay... well, I'll let you get back to it then."

"Thanks. I love you."

"I love you too."

They still mean it, but it is that very meaning that makes the words hurt more than ever.

* * *

 

It hurts Weiss to lie to those close to her. Especially when it's Blake. And even more so when there's no particular reason to do it, other than wanting to do something unexpected and special.

When she ends her call with Blake on the tenth night of December, she lets her head drop back, to stare at the ceiling of her penthouse hotel suite. With reluctance, she forces herself off the love seat and over to the desk in the opposite corner of the room, which houses her laptop and a printer.

She rereads the printed details of her actual flight home. So she had lied about the date of her return. At the very least, landing back in Atlas on the twenty-second of December, rather than the fifth of January, presents to her a chance to provide her love with a pleasant surprise. She knows that Blake will be happy to see her. She may not be as happy about the deception, but Weiss hopes that it will blow over easily.

She wonders, not for the first time, about how Blake is holding up at home. Since the beginning of their relationship, they had not spent so much time apart. She knows that she herself is hurting with the time apart, so she can only imagine what Blake is feeling. With work on top of it, and she feels like Blake is sure to be stressed out.

But things would be okay and back to normal soon. Blake would finish work in two days, and she would be finishing up at the Vale arm during the following week. Then they would be swiftly reunited, and things would be okay again. Their love is as strong as it's always been, and absence only makes the heart grow fonder.

* * *

 

Blake knows that things are no longer as bright as they once were. She feels like Weiss's bad news hasn't yet hit her, but she hasn't a clue about when it might. She eats her dinner that night with caution and trepidation, as if expecting a wave of grief to crash over her takeout noodles.

They exchange their usual nightly calls in the subsequent days, but neither of them deign to broach the topic again. Instead, they force their way through the more recent conversations, straining to put a smile into their voices.

Work eventually ends for Blake, the constant flurry of activity coming to an abrupt halt. Time almost seems to slow to a standstill in the house on her first day off. It feels akin to traveling in a speeding car, only for it to come to a sudden, jolting stop. The subsequent feeling of wanting to throw up included.

It leaves her with not much to occupy her troubled mind, other than the one person at the forefront of it. She can't help herself; she obsesses, and the flowing thoughts take her on a journey as she tosses and turns in bed, on the thirteenth night of December.

The scenarios are plentiful, and wholly unpleasant. They tell stories of Weiss, and deceit, and betrayal. She doesn't want to believe anything her rampant mind throws at her, and she refuses to let any doubt settle.

Somehow, she manages to sleep that night, a restless slumber, punctuated with nightmares that leave her in a foul mood the next morning.

As it progresses, with each minute feeling like an hour, she gets a feeling that if she stays cooped up in the house for much longer, she'll begin to feel a little stir-crazy. So she drives from the suburbs and into the city, with the heating blasting in her face and the sound system turned off.

The city streets buzz with all manner of people, taking advantage of Sunday trading hours. Tourists, businesspeople, families. It's not as vibrant an atmosphere as Vale; whereas Vale has its street performers and other quirky characters, Atlas imparts a more oppressive environment, with people who always look they need to be somewhere important in a hurry, and don't want to stop for anything. But at this time of year, families always come from overseas to engage with it. Blake can never quite understand why.

She goes in for coffee, standing in line with strangers who would surely recognize her if Weiss was by her side, but never otherwise.

The coffee shop is cramped with people seeking shelter from the elements, and while she is reluctant to go back out into the cold, there are no spare seats available. So she jostles back through the throng, doing her best to keep her beverage out of harm's way.

She backs slowly out through the door and steps onto the street, feeling relief at having made it out unscathed, when somebody bumps her shoulder from behind, knocking the coffee from her grasp and all over the snow-patched sidewalk.

She stares at the spilled beverage, both seeping into the snow and snaking its way across the pavement toward her shoes, like her thoughts about Weiss trying to claw their way back into her mind and set there. She spins away from the mess and walks angrily to her car, rubbing her hands together as if trying to spark a fire in the frozen, concrete jungle. At least that would provide her an adequate distraction.

When she eventually arrives home, she sets the brown paper bag onto the kitchen counter, where she decides to leave it. It is, after all, still too early for wine.

For the first time since seeing Weiss off at the airport, Blake doesn't talk to her that night. She lets the calls go unanswered, the chimes repeating and repeating and constantly repeating, drilling and boring into her skull. She loses count of how many times the calls are missed, eventually turning the phone to silent. She sits by the fire with it, playing repetitive, mind-numbing puzzle games and ignoring every chime and notification.

The stream of calls dies quickly, but messages persist consistently for the next thirty minutes. She remains steadfast throughout, traveling from one completed game to the next at a frustratingly quick pace.

But even the messages eventually cease, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She cannot bring herself to read them, or listen to the voice messages. Because, in the half hour that she was doing her best to shut her love out, the poisonous thoughts had come flowing back. Only this time, they were gripping at her more than they had before, wracking her heart with a sadness almost akin to despair. Drinking wine only serves to worsen it, to the point where she can no longer tell herself wholeheartedly that it's not true.

She places a call of her own, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Hello?" "Ruby?"

"... Blake?"

"Hi, Ruby. How are you?" she asks, sniffing a little.

"I'm... fine. Blake, are you crying? What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about Weiss."

"Aw, honey, she'll be home soon."

"Not that," Blake says. She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm panicking. I think she's cheating on me."

"What?" Ruby says. Then there is silence, as she absorbs the allegation. "Blake... are you serious about that? What makes you think that?"

"I don't know!" Blake exclaims, the tears beginning to fall now. "But just... tell me why I shouldn't believe it!"

* * *

 

She wakes up the morning after, with a thumping headache and bloodshot eyes, neither just from the drinking.

Talking with Ruby hadn't helped her a single iota. She cannot recall why she even called her old friend, to pile this new misery on her. In the end, it does feel like a wasted, whining moment, but that knowledge isn't enough to dissuade the feelings and thoughts that have begun to settle within her.

She doesn't want to believe that Weiss is being unfaithful, but as the first couple days of the new week roll past, she knows that convincing herself is no longer possible.

She doesn't know why, but she decides to do something different on the seventeenth of the month. After again avoiding Weiss's attempts to reach out to her, she dresses up. She applies more makeup than she's used to, and after a few mirror checks, she resigns to herself that maybe no amount of foundation or shadow can betray the weariness and sadness in her eyes.

* * *

 

Bars, even gay ones, are rather unfamiliar to her; she hasn't set foot in one since her first date with Weiss. What an evening, she thinks to herself. It was awkward, of course, both parties playing at an attraction that they didn't quite grasp the full extent of. But it was the night that started it all, nonetheless.

She sits at the bar and orders a cosmopolitan, the only drink name she can recall. The liquid is pink, bright, and smells sweet. She takes a tentative sip, and flinches a little at the sensation. Quite different to wine, in any case.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices someone sidling up next to her, and sitting down on the stool next to her.

"Hey there, cutie," a young woman purrs at her. "I haven't seen you in here before."

"What are you, the manager?"

"No. But I know all the faces in the Atlas scene. And you... I don't know you."

Blake gives the woman a subtle once-over. Black hair with lime-green highlights, straightened and cut in a radical, almost punk-like style. The look is accentuated by a trendy black jacket over a v-neck shirt, as well as skinny jeans and combat boots. At first glance, it is strikingly androgynous, and a little off-putting for Blake, who, all of a sudden, feels a little too conservative and middle-class.

She wants to politely send her on her way, but the woman is clearly interested in what she thinks Blake can provide her.

_Well, what the fuck._

"Would you like to get to know me?" Blake asks, offering a crooked, nervous smile. From the way that the other woman smiles back, an eyebrow raised, she knows that they're on.

* * *

 

She doesn't think of it as dating. Partially because the other woman says she doesn't want any strings attached. Blake lets it slip that she's in a relationship, but the other woman laughs, clearly not fazed at all.

It is not exactly the start of a new relationship, but Blake is reluctant to call it an affair, simply because of what it means for her. But deep down she knows, what else can it be, when she has sex with another woman while in her relationship with her own likely-cheating girlfriend?

They sleep together the night they meet. When Blake wakes up in the other woman's bed, on the morning of the eighteenth, there is the briefest of moments where she doesn't quite know where she is. Then she smells the coffee before the steaming mug is thrust under her nose as she sits up.

"Here. Freshen up."

Blake accepts the mug. "Thanks."

"Um, I have to go to work soon..."

"Oh! Sure. I should... probably be getting home anyway." They see each other out of the apartment building, talking a little bit about what they are. Neither of them, it seems, want to call it anything other than casual sex. But they both seem okay with that.

As they eventually go their separate ways, the other woman calls out to her, "You were great, by the way! Call me!" in parting. Blake feels embarrassed that she was so loud about it all, so she just briefly waves back.

She wonders if this is how Weiss felt when she did it.

* * *

 

The mall's air is thick with the scent of something sweet, and decorations of red and green deck the walls and ceilings. How festive.

Comparatively, the jewelry shop lacks any such holiday frills, and Weiss is perfectly okay with that. She does a little more browsing while she waits for the store clerk, but more just for something to do, rather than to purchase anything else.

"Here we are, ma'am," the clerk announces, reappearing with a small bag perched in his hands. "Will there be anything else today?"

"No, thank you," she says, accepting the bag from him. "Have a nice day."

"Thank you for your business, Miss Schnee."

She leaves the jewelry store and the mall, having done the last of what she came to Vale to do. She is ready to go home now, but she still has to wait until Monday evening for her flight.

Blake's sudden and drastic lack of contact continues to trouble her. At one stage, she had considered an official investigation, fearing the worst, but then Blake had sent her a few messages, and it was fine again.

Despite the one-sidedness of their contact now, Weiss still at least sends Blake messages, keeping her "updated" with her progress at work. But in the meantime, she potters around her hotel room, simply biding her time until Monday.

* * *

 

She shivers. It was supposed to have been one of the warmer December days, but even the light cloud cover throughout the day wasn't enough for the sun to do its job. As she swiftly boards the jet, and is welcomed by regulated temperature control, she is grateful that the jet was one of her father's indulgences that she decided not to sell or give away, like she had with much of his other frivolous possessions. The ones she hadn't burned, at least.

She slips out of her jacket, and drops it onto an adjacent chair, before falling into a chair herself. She messages Blake, saying that she is busy, but would call a little later. She then switches off the phone, not really expecting a reply.

The flight, without delays – not that there would be any – would only take three hours. An awkward amount of time, which she can either choose to sleep through or stay awake and twiddle her thumbs through.

The decision is a much easier one than it first appears. She requests a blanket from the flight attendant, and curls up under it with a small smile, born from both the warmth of the blanket and the anticipation of what would be coming at the end of this journey.

Atlas is in the throes of a dark and damp night by the time the wheels touch the ground. Weiss feels a gentle shake of her shoulder, that wakes her. The flight attendant smiles at her, informing her that they have arrived in Atlas.

"Great. Is the car already here?"

"It is, ma'am."

Weiss nods. "Thank you for your service tonight."

"My pleasure."

She slides back into her jacket, and also wraps a trench coat around herself before stepping out. It proves useful, with the swirling winds assaulting her. She hunches her shoulders as she descends the staircase, making her exposed neck as small as possible.

Not for the first time, she feels jealousy towards Blake, undoubtedly relaxing by their fireplace. But then her excitement starts to grow, knowing that she is only a 40 minute commute away from joining her.

Cars race across the freeway, weaving in and out of lanes. Weiss's car pulls into the traffic, joining the throng hurtling through the night and towards the city centre.

* * *

 

Another glass of wine is what Blake hands to her paramour as she climbs back into the bed. She gets a pout in return.

"I said I wanted coffee."

Blake smiles as she presses her bare self up against her body. "This is my house. You'll get what I give you," she purrs, barely audible over the music blasting through her tinny laptop speakers.

"Oh? And just what else do you plan to give me?"

"Finish your wine, and you'll find out."

The other woman giggles as Blake comes forward and plants kisses all over her neck. Downstairs, a ringtone sounds off.

"Do you want to get that?"

Blake pauses, and looks at her. "Are you serious?"

"Of course not, cutie. Want some wine?"

"That's your glass."

"Right, but if you help me finish it, then it'll go a lot quicker, won't it?"

"Touché."

* * *

 

No answer. Weiss frowns, and looks up at the house. The bedroom light is on, so it is apparent to her that Blake is still awake, or at least still home. She calls again, but to no response. She frowns, but pulls out her house key and decides to enter anyway.

The house is mostly silent, save for the faint sound of music coming from the bedroom upstairs. She sees Blake's phone on the kitchen counter, screen still alight and displaying notification of her missed calls. She leaves her luggage and her coat in the kitchen and heads up the stairs, tiptoeing quietly.

Halfway up the staircase, she hears a voice. Blake's voice. She smiles. Then she hears another voice. The voice of another woman. Her blood runs cold and she freezes in place.

Another woman. In _her_ bedroom. With _her_  lover. In _her_ bed.

She hears Blake's laugh, and for a moment feels like collapsing to her knees. She clutches at the banister to prevent such a thing from happening. Her knees go weak, and for a moment she feels like she can actually see the fragments of her heart, scattered all over the stairs. She lets out a brief whimper, but quickly covers her mouth. She gulps back the lumps in her throat. Her mouth is dry, but she speaks anyway.

"Blake? I'm home," she calls out, doing her best to sound normal. Despite her vast experience and proficiency in the art of public speaking, it is one of the hardest things she's had to say in her life.

She staggers down a few steps, eyes trained on the carpeting of the stairs, so that she doesn't immediately notice it when Blake appears at the top of the staircase. When she does look up at Blake – who has clothes on, but hair that is disheveled – she feels like she could explode.

Blake looks both stunned and a little panicked. "Weiss! You're- you're home already!" she exclaims. She pounds down the stairs and wraps Weiss in a tight hug. "I wasn't expecting you for another two weeks."

Weiss doesn't hug her back, standing more or less limp in Blake's arms. She feels queasy. "I know."

Blake lets her go, too many conflicting emotions racing through her own body to notice Weiss's demeanor. "How was your flight?"

"It was okay. Look, I'm going to go and get something to eat," Weiss says, turning to walk back down the stairs to the kitchen. "But why don't you come and see me when you've... got yourself sorted out."

"What do you mean?" asks Blake, fear suddenly creeping into her voice. Weiss doesn't look back, continuing her path down the stairs. One step at a time.

She doesn't miss a beat with her reply. "You know. Once you get that woman out of our bed and out of our home. Once you get the smell of booze and sex off." She says it so casually.

"Weiss..." Blake chokes out, immediately filled with a regret and a pain that she can only describe as crushing. Her lip quivers, her hands clenching and unclenching. "Weiss... I'm..."

Weiss pauses at the bottom of the staircase. "Just do it," she says quietly.

Blake almost flies down the stairs after her. She clutches Weiss's arm, trying to form the beginnings of an apology, but Weiss rounds on her, fury blazing in her eyes. "Damn it, Blake, just do it!" she hisses, shaking her arm free of Blake's grasp. "I don't want to see you until it's done." She continues walking, turning the corner into the kitchen, leaving Blake with the million pieces of her broken heart.

* * *

 

It takes Blake a few moments by the bedroom door to compose herself. But it must have been a flimsy attempt, because the woman in the bed – also dressed – gets up and goes to her.

"What's wrong?" she asks, searching Blake's stony face for a clue.

"You have to go," Blake says heavily. She walks past her and starts stripping the bed.

"Is it your girlfriend?"

Blake straightens up, and looks at her with anger. "I told you to go."

"No, not before you tell me what's going on-"

"The longer you stay here, the more I can't guarantee that I won't lash out at you, so please. Just get out."

The other woman bites the inside of her cheek, and teases out her punk hairstyle.

"Fine."

"I'll show you out."

They stay silent from the bedroom down to the front door, where the woman leans close to Blake and whispers, "If it doesn't work out, give me a call."

Blake doesn't nod or shake her head. She grunts in acknowledgement, before shutting the door behind the woman.

She tiptoes past the kitchen on the way back, where she can hear Weiss pacing around, opening and closing cupboard doors at random. In the bedroom, she goes back to stripping the bed.

She knows exactly when it was that she realized her mistake. The instant she'd seen Weiss on the staircase, like a fog being lifted, she knew that there had been no affair in Vale at all. It hurts her more to know that she actually suspected Weiss of doing such a heinous thing, eventually without any doubts at all.

The same heinous thing which she had been doing for the better part of a week. As Weiss instructed, she takes a shower. A long one, as if she can somehow desperately scrub away the faults of her heart and mind. In the end, she just has to settle for soaping her body and cleaning her teeth, sticking to something that she actually feels is possible.

* * *

 

Breath bated, Weiss paces the living room, by the crackle of the fireplace. Clasped in her hands is a small, white box. She opens it once, to watch the way the flickering light of the fire dances across the small surface of the diamond within. She closes the box rather quickly after that, and doesn't think of opening it once more.

The footfalls are slow and telltale. Weiss stops pacing as soon as she hears them, and stands up straight, with her arms crossed. When Blake walks into the room, she tries to close the distance between them, walking towards her.

"No. No. _Blake, no,"_ Weiss says, backing away from her and shaking her head. Blake gets too close, and Weiss pushes her back with one hand. "Don't move," she warns.

Blake looks down, morose. "Weiss, I just want to apologize, for... for..."

"For fucking someone else while I was away?"

"... Yes."

Weiss feels disgusted, and bites her lip at her own vulgarity. "How long has this been going on?"

"... Almost a week."

"Look at me," Weiss directs, and Blake complies. "Why? Can you tell me why?" Blake slowly shakes her head. "No? How come?"

"Because... you'll just hate me more."

"I'm filled with more hurt than I am with hate, Blake. I want to know, _why you took two years of trust and love and every feeling under the sun and shredded it all._ Give me your excuses. I want to know them. I'm just trying to talk to you like a person here."

"I didn't trust you!" Blake bursts out, reaching and clutching Weiss's arms again. This time though, Weiss lets her. "I couldn't trust you. When you... when you told me that you weren't coming back until after the new year, I started having all these horrible thoughts and I started drinking again, only I was drinking harder, and then I went to that old gay bar in the city..." She trails off, and takes a breath.

"So... you thought that I was cheating on you, so you went out to have sex with someone else to get back at me? Blake, what kind of messed-up, sociopathic reaction is that?"

"I don't know, okay! I don't know what I was thinking! I don't know how it came to the place it did, all I know is that it happened."

"Do you regret it?"

"What sort of a question is that?"

"A legitimate one, Blake."

"Of course I regret it. I'll regret it for the rest of my life, now, and I'm going to be living with this forever."

Weiss breaks the gaze, but still lets Blake keep hold of her arms. "Was she the only one?"

"Yes."

Weiss's breath hitches. This is it. The time has come. She takes one of Blake's hands and holds the white box in it. "Blake," she begins, staring at their hands, "I'm still stunned, to tell the truth. I don't know if I can forgive you. And I don't mean in the next week, the next month, the next year. I mean ever. Only time will tell in that regard. But we're over now, because I still love you too much to go through that pain. I won't leave my house, but I'll sort something out after the holiday. I'll set up the guest room tomorrow, but after this, tonight I _really_ want to be alone."

"Do you want me to leave?" asks Blake meekly, tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

"No, I'll go to a hotel. I'll send you a message when I check out, because, quite frankly, I don't want to see your face while I'm trying to reclaim my house from what you've done to it."

Blake nods. Weiss can feel that she is doing her best not to shake. She tightens the grip on Blake's hands, digging the box into her palms. "I'm leaving you with this," she continues. "You know, for as long as I've spent here tonight, I've seriously been contemplating tossing this box and its contents into the fire. But... I eventually decided to hang onto it, and present it to you. After all, you've done enough to earn it in the first place, so I figure that its okay to let you have it anyway. Keep it. We just won't have the original meaning behind it anymore, or what would normally come after. Instead, let this be my way of saying..." She looks up at Blake, and into her sad, golden eyes. "... Of saying thank you. Thank you for two years of what we've had together, and even the time we spent as friends before that... I lo-" Her voice breaks, and she pauses to clear it. "I love you, Blake. But we can't be together anymore. Not with this specter hanging over us. It's over. But I love you."

"... I love you too," Blake croaks, sniffing a little.

Weiss opens her mouth to retort, to hurt even further. But she can see in Blake's eyes, that, as usual, she still means it. They both still mean it. And of course they do, for their love is absolute. But they just simply can't handle it right now.

So she smiles a sad smile and raises Blake's hands to her lips. She kisses them, and the box nestled between them. Then she finally breaks the contact between them, sweeping out of the room. Happy holidays, Blake. She gathers up her trench coat and stuffs her essential belongings into the pockets.

And as she steps out through the front door, and lets it swing shut behind her, she lets a sobbing sound escape from the back of her throat. It sounds much louder than she expected, but what else should she have expected from the quiet street?

She pulls the coat over her shoulders and ties it round her chest. As she strolls into the night, her boots crunching in the snow, she does not bother to put her arms in the sleeves. It feels colder this way, but she pays it no further mind.

It all feels a bit like a bad dream.

 


End file.
